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• OC Name: Ezre Lafihna.
• Alias(es): Umbral Rose, Seola, Charm.
• Date of Birth: December 24 (22).
• Zodiac Signs: Capricorn. Ox.
• Place of Birth: Tritonus.
• Species: Terran.
• Occupation: Heiress to the Lafihna fashion line. Former hitman for hire. Model.
• Current Residence: Korona, Paradisi.
• Spoken Languages: English, Korean, Japanese, Mandarin, French, German, Russian, and basically a bit of every other language there is.
• ual Orientation: Demiromantic.
• Romantic Orientation: Panual.
• Relationship Status: Single, not interested.
• Moral Alignment: Neutral evil.
• SNS/Username: @ezfihna.

Appearance

• Faceclaim: Kim Hyunjung / WJSN Seola.
• Height: 165cm.
• Weight: 45kg.
• Hair Color: Black (original) ; Blonde (dyed & current).
• Eye Color: Gray (R), Amber (L). Often wears contacts on one eye with the same color of the other eye.
• Piercings: One tongue piercing, five on R ear, three on L, two on R lobe, & one on L lobe.
• Tattoos: A small phoenix with wings outstretched by her lower back, near the end of her spine.
• Scars: tba.
• Clothing Style: Depends on the mood and occassion. Classy chic on most days, a touch of innocence on rare times. During her hitman days, she would wear clothes necessary for the mission, but her preference lies within combat boots and army pants.

queen of the damned

Crimson.

It was a color she had grown accustomed to. She would see it in the clothes the adults would wear back at the orphanage. She would see it in the small wounds that the other kids would get due to the carelessness. She would see it dripping from the corner of her lips after a boy twice her size smacked her in the face. It would bruise, of course, and her face would become numb. Another color would mix with the crimson shade, and it would show the familiar image of the purple mark on her cheek.

She had never once thought it was a beautiful color.

Was it only beautiful if with it flowed the spark of life of another human being? Was it only beautiful if it dripped from someone else's mouth? Was it only beautiful if it signaled the death of yet again another living being?

Those were just the questions that ran through her mind as she watched the blood oozed out of the man's neck, body slumped against his own bed. The same crimson liquid painted his paling skin red as it flowed down to the mattress, tainting the white sheets with the dirty color. 

She blinked. Someone once told her this was supposed to be beautiful.

What part of this was beautiful, when all she could see was one less ugly thing occupying the world?

"When you look in the mirror, what do you see? Do you see yourself? Or do you see the face of someone else? Or can you not even recall the name of the face you borrowed? What a sad, sad being you are, my dear."

The day of her birth signaled the tragic tale of a young girl who simply had the misfortune of being born a minute later. Her family was rather... messed up, for the lack of better words. Her parents were the heads of one of the most influencial and most popular fashion lines in the industry, and underneath that fame, they continued a cult that her father's family had started generations before. A cult that worshipped a false god, Arahabaki, whom they believed to take the next leader as his vessels. 

She was born as the younger of the twins. The Lafihna family decided that they only needed one heiress, else the blessing of Arahabaki might be split between the two. Because of that, she was sold off to a dealer from the black market. And from then, she went from house to house in days — she didn't have a permanent home. She didn't even have a place to call home. It was easier this way — there was no one who had accepted her, honestly. She was the dealer's most prized possession — the one priced the highest for being such an exquisite beauty. 

In addition to her beauty, she was trained the basics of assassination — trained to be obedient. She was to be a dog, a tool to use. She was okay with that. At least she had worth.

But she was nameless, and for that, she was looked down upon.

She didn't care. Or so she'd like to believe. Her heart hardened with each punch to the face, each kick to the gut, and before long, she found herself unable to feel anything. She was numb — so, so numb that one could do anything to her and she wouldn't say about it. She had become nothing but a shell — a doll that anyone was free to play with. 

She was eleven years old when she was finally bought. A man twice her age, filthy rich and greedy — he had thought that he had scored the jackpot. And he did, didn't he? By buying her, he gained a doll for him to use for whatever he wanted, and a dog that would obey his every command.

Yet that man was the same man that had given her a name — Charmaine. It was fitting for a doll, and the word doll was the best adjective to describe her. For a while, she tolerated it. This was the man that had given her a name when no one else would, but her heart screamed for freedom. Why was she letting herself be controlled by the people around her? Be manipulated by those who shouldn't even have the right to breathe near her?

She could only remember holding a knife then. The man was sleeping in his bed, and completely worn out. Her own legs trembled, yet her petite hands managed to clutch onto the knife tightly. 

One slash was all it took — one swing into the neck. Blood splashed into Charmaine's face, painting her porcelain skin in its scarlet hue.

The minute after, she escaped from the mansion. They wouldn't have let her go easily, of course, and she could hear the sirens soon. It was to fast of a reaction, but she supposed it was only because the man was rich. Nevertheless, she easily slid into the slums, and was quick to mix in with them. It wasn't that hard to, actually — it was the place she had come from, after all.

It was there where she had learned the phrase, "every man for himself," and ever since, she lived by that rule. She stole from anyone she'd come across, deceived and murdered people for her benefit — anything for her survival. 

With time, she had become a hitman. Her path to that occupation had been bloody and a blur, yet her body could fully remember the things she had learned over the years. Charmaine felt too girly, she had thought then, and it gave away so much of borrowed identity. She then gave herself the alias, Seola. 

Seola was a name that became a prominent one in the underground. She was a talented hitman, who taught herself everything she knew at the time. She was intelligent, despite her origins. 

However, her life changed when she got hired by the Lafihna. She hadn't known of her heritage then, and was only forced to discover who she was supposed to be — the youngest and missing Lafihna daughter. She hadn't known what to feel then. What was she even supposed to say, when she found out that she was actually supposed to be rich instead of fighting for her life in the streets?

Yet she learned soon after that she still wouldn't be able to give herself a proper identity. After all, she was to rid herself of her Seola persona, and take on a new one. Whose identity was she about to borrow this time? It was none other than her apparently deceased twin — Ezre Lafihna.

She was nothing more than a replacement.

Unable to escape the clutches of the Lafihna family, she was trained, given lessons. From proper manners and history of their allies and enemies to enhancing her combat capabilities even more — she learned it all.

She wasn't just to be a doll — she was to be a puppet, one that they could use any time they had wanted.

She was eighteen years old when she fully embodied Ezre Lafihna. She had then become the face of the Lafihna fashion line, and the so-called vessel of Arahabaki. Hailed as Queen of the Damned, she served as the mascot of the cult.

Age twenty-two, and she was a famous name within and out of the wealthy society. Both feared and admired for her capabilties, and the rumors that surrounded her being. Soon enough, even the rumors felt more like distant tales instead of her own memories.

Could she even remember who she was before all this? She didn't know. 

Was there even a her before she was given a name? She couldn't remember it anymore.